


If a body meet a body

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, Platonic Joanlock - Freeform, teens in scotland
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 10:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9178369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: An AU of Sherlock and Joan meeting for the first time as teenagers, around 1989, while visiting Scotland (a story whose seeds were sown in The Smaller Pieces). The first chapter first appeared here in July as part of my Watson's Woes daily prompt fics. There will more than likely be a few more chapters. Please forgive my attempts at capturing a Scottish accent in writing.





	1. Chapter 1

This was such a joke. A huge impractical joke that her parents didn't even have a clue they were pulling. Joan had been dragged out of her home, her dearly loved concrete and smog filled New York, a city full of music and culture and life and set out here in, literally, the middle of nowhere. Dalmally, a small Scottish town, whose only claim to fame was its one mile proximity to the ruins of a castle was to be her home for the next month.

She rearranged the headphones on her Walkman and trudged angrily through the stony landscape. Hills and grass and more hills and nothing else out here. Thank god for music, she thought as she turned the volume up even higher. Joan was a classics girl - at fifteen her teenage sanity was currently being held intact by The Pretenders, Iggy Pop and the Ramones (although Edie Brickell's "What I Am" had become her secret go-to song during the long and quite Scottish nights.)

Out in the distance, the stony towers of Kilchurn Castle loomed, behind them, Loch Awe. The day was typical of the region gloomy and grey; about the only thing she'd liked so far about the country.

She walked up a small mound and stopped in her tracks; someone sat about thirty feet ahead of her, motionless and staring out towards the castle. Joan only saw his back but surmised he was possibly a year or two older than her from his posture and clothing. His bleached hair almost matched the color of the dead dry grass around him. An open notebook lay by his side.

She turned off her music, removed her headphones and had quietly set one foot behind the other as she decided what to do. The boy spoke without turning around, "Ach, Ye cannae gie peace anywhaur these days. Be oan yer way, lass!"

"How'd you know I was a girl?" Curiosity forced the question out of her.

The boy turned, his slate blue eyes quickly examining her head to foot, "Oh, your an American. New York City ... possibly, Queens, no?" His Scottish brogue dropped to reveal a very crisp British accent.

Taken aback at how quickly he had pegged her origins, Joan pushed her thick black bangs away from her eyes to take a better look at him. "And you are just another snotty Brit trying to pretend your not ..." It wasn't much of a comeback but she felt better having at least responded. She turned to walk away.

"Hold on," he scrambled to his feet. "I wasn't trying to be insulting. I just have this innate ability to piss people off."

His candor caught her off guard and she stopped. He was kind of cute and he wore a Sex Pistols tshirt so he really couldn't be all bad.

"Your gait as you approached alerted me to your gender. The smell of hair spray and faint odor of a freesia based perfume confirmed it. As did your music choice..." He squinted at her nervously but obviously proud of his skills.

"Hmmm." Joan tried to not look as impressed as she was.

The boy extended his hand, "My name is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

She took his hand and gave it a firm shake, "Joan Watson."

Sherlock gave her a smile, or what he hoped was a smile. His facial expressions ran the gamut from grimace to pained or so he'd been told by one of his "benefactors" at school - the one who'd been determined to beat the smarts out of him. "Care to join me?" He surprised himself with the invitation. He was not generally one to encourage the company of others.

He took in her appearance as he waited for her answer - shining black hair, coal black denim jacket, jet black eyeliner and mascara, black skinny pants tucked into heavy work boots - the girl was a tiny thing but fierce looking. He became aware of his heart beating faster.

A smile broke across her face and he suddenly felt a weight lift from his shoulders, a feeling akin to the elation of finding the solution to a long worked on problem swelled within him.

"What are you doing out here, if you don't mind my asking?" Joan walked to where he had been sitting and knelt scanning the landscape before her.

He plopped down beside her. "Well, if you are asking why am I here in Scotland, that would be because father has banished me, placing me in the care of my aunt for the summer as punishment for an incendiary incident." He bit his lower lip and nodded at the ground as he recalled the boathouse fire. "Totally unintentional, I assure you."

Joan glanced at him, "You blew something up?" Her regard for him grew in her rebel teenage eyes.

"Yeah," Sherlock nodded. "Not on purpose of course, but the blaze was magnificent."

She giggled and it encouraged him to continue describing the damage wreaked. It was a rare occurrence for him to find someone to listen to his stories.

Joan, usually a bit reserved and quiet among those she did not know, found herself asking questions and conversing with this boy as if they were old friends.

She filled him in on her own exile. "My stepfather is doing research for a book featuring the castle," she pointed towards the structure. "He thought it would be a great experience and brought my mom and me out here on vacation. My brother lucked out. He stayed back home to finish his summer school classes."

Sherlock squinted at her and teased, "Ye dornt loch scootlund much dae ye lassie?"

"No, it's beautiful. I guess ... I don't know. There's not much for me to do. I've read every book I brought with me ..."

"I'll loan you some of mine. My aunt has a good library as well." The ease he felt around this girl, to volunteer to loan her his cherished books, was a completely new and rather heady experience.

"That would be wonderful." Her enthusiasm at his offer brought both to an awkward moment of silence, afraid they'd showed their true selves too quickly, each waited for the ridicule that they both separately encountered from their peers.

Sherlock broke the silence. "You asked what I was doing here earlier," he looked back out towards the ruins. "I'm on a bit of a stakeout." He leaned in and whispered dramatically, "I've come to believe the castle there is the centre of some rather nefarious goings-on."

Joan's eyes lit up. "Really? Why? What have you seen? Maybe I can help."

"You're interested?" He could not control the happy lilt of excitement in his voice. He cleared his throat, and took on a more mature tone, "Well, wait, I don't want to put you in danger..."

"No, Sherlock, I can help." She went on to regale him with her knowledge of criminals and crime feuds from back home. He listened mouth agape.

"Do you have a curfew, Watson?" he asked. "Most of the activity seems to take place after midnight."

"Yup. I have a curfew but I also have a first floor bedroom with a nice big window and parents who are heavy sleepers." She lifted her eyebrows and tilted her head at him.

"Alright. Meet me outside the church in Dalmally at 11:30 tonight and we'll hike back here together."

Joan was on her feet. "Okay! Its a deal. I'll see you then." She smiled and hurriedly made her way back up the hill.

From behind her his voice call out, "Watson! ... Watson! Bring a torch!"


	2. Chapter 2

"It's barely nine and you're going to bed?" Mary Watson looked suspiciously at her.

"No-uh" the extra syllable Joan added to the word put her dangerously close to insolent. Mary's eyebrow shot up and her eyes bore into her daughter's. 

Joan immediately took on a more respectful cadence."I didn't say I was going to bed. I'm going to my room to read .... seeing how there is no television or radio or anything to keep anyone entertained here." She picked up her book bag from the wooden chair near the front door. 

"There is radio. The BBC comes through ... It just doesn't play the sort of noise you like." Her step father never looked up from his book as he spoke and thus missed Joan's disparaging eye roll.

Choosing not to prolong the conversation, she gave her mom a kiss on the cheek. "Goodnight." And didn't bother with her stepdad who was lost in the history of the local clans. 

"Don't stay up too late." Mary picked up her crochet, and watched Joan disappear into her tiny bedroom. She spoke in a hushed tone to her husband, "I'm worried about her. We've been here two weeks and she hasn't made one friend."

Henry mumbled into his book, "She's fine. Don't worry..."

 

Around ten, Joan turned off her bedroom light and waited. The light from the main room dimmed soon after that and she heard the shuffle and murmur of her parents turning in for the evening. There'd been no sound since then. 

Her watch now glowed 11:30. Time to go! A thrill ran through her at the same time a nagging little voice raised sensible concerns about the wisdom of sneaking off into the darkness to meet a boy she'd only just met. The nagging only made Joan more eager to set out. This was an adventure - something outside the sensible humdrum existence of her parents' expectations. And anyway, she wasn't sure why exactly, but she trusted Sherlock, weird name and all.

The window barely creaked as she opened it. Perched on the sill, the cool air and the chirping of crickets, further enticed her to be on her way. Her pack slung onto her back, she swung her feet out into the night, crunched and crouched on to to the ground, taking a beat to listen. All clear. She quietly closed the window and hurried off into the darkness. 

 

The church yard was empty. It was a minute or two before midnight and the town was completely dark. From somewhere in that darkness she heard footsteps and laughter echoing down the stone street and coming her way. Sensible fear came over her. She was physically small and alone. Joan started towards the hedge hoping to hide behind the barrier. A hand grabbed at her as she passed the old pine tree.

"Shhh... Wait for them to pass."

A relieved Joan stared up into the frightened eyes of Sherlock. She nodded and he removed his hand from her arm. 

The rowdy voices were now almost upon them. Laughter erupted and it sounded like a scuffle followed. The cries of the boys echoed and mixed with laughter. Sherlock and Joan tried to recede deeper into the shadows.

"Ay, aye! lookie! Look it what I spy with me little eye!" The high pitched excited tones of one the younger boys came towards them.

"Shit," Sherlock whispered. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ... Uhm... Pardon me ..." He moved them, placing her so her back was against the rough bark of tree. Facing her, Sherlock put his forearms on the tree and loomed over her. Joan searched his face apprehensively, not sure if she should be worried about the incoming gang or whatever it was her new friend had in mind. 

His face registered embarrassment, "Don't worry ... I'll try not to actually touch you... but ...." His head dropped awkwardly closer to hers. "Follow my lead, if you would?" 

His face came down to hers but true to his word he did not touch her. Joan, realizing what he was doing placed her arms around his waist. She felt him jump at the contact, "Sorry..." She whispered. 

The teenagers loudly approached. 

"Weeel look a' this! Ole Sherly's got 'imself a bird!"

The group of teenagers skittered to a temporary stop and then moved closer. The oldest of the group, perhaps 19 at best, and clearly the leader, remained quiet and aloof while the others taunted. Sherlock and Joan turned to face them.

"Aye an' a looker at that." The boy approached Watson, fingers waving as if to take her away. "Ah, lassie, ye kin do sooo much better 'en than this skinny git....."

"Don't you dare touch me!" As Joan said the words, Sherlock moved and placed himself between Joan and the offender. 

"An American! Sherls, you got yourself an American! How'd you manage that? ....always the quiet ones, in't? ...."

Sherlock scanned the group and spied the leader. "Angus! Should have known these would be yours. ... I believe we had an agreement." He stood ramrod straight with Joan hiding behind him. He hoped she couldn't feel him shaking. "Tell your hooligans to back off. Or would you rather I tell your father about our arrangement, hmm?"

Angus, head shaved and tattooed, stared and said nothing until without warning, he jerked his head toward the street and walked away. His gang rowdily followed amid catcalls and kissing sounds 

"Sorry sweetheart, gots to go..."   
"Don't to anything I wouldn't do."   
"There's nothin' you wouldn't do ...."   
"Hey Sherlock, when your done with her kin I 'ave her...." 

The jeers and laughter faded away into the darkness, leaving Joan and Sherlock staring after them, making sure they were truly gone. Joan realized she was still clutching his jacket and quickly let go. 

Sherlock turned to her, "Perhaps it's best if I walk you home, hmm? This is too dangerous for you."

"But it's not too dangerous for you, right?" Her challenge surprised her as much as him. She truly wanted nothing more right now than to be in bed and way under the covers but she was not about to have him think her a coward.

He scrutinized her as best he could in the dim light. He was scared, how could she not be. "Watson, you are young and a girl and I wouldn't be able to live with myself should something ..." 

"I look younger than I am, I'm probably older than you and as for being a girl ... Well, yeah I am a girl and you are a boy and the same terrible things that can happen to me can happen to you ... You're probably safer with me around... "

After consideration, he conceded her the point but continued arguing, "I've been working on this, I know the risks... you ... well, you've no idea what this is all about."

"Then let's stop wasting time and show me before you're friends come back." Joan now had something to prove to the bleach blonde - she could do whatever he could and she was not going to back down. Fear would have to wait. 

He'd never met anyone, of any gender, with whom he'd had this sort of immediate, intimate connection. Sherlock grimaced and wiped at his face, stared at the ground and finally concluded there was no point arguing with her. A lesson he'd have to learn many times over before this was all through. 

"Fine," he said resignedly, with a slap of his hand to his leg. "You have your torch?"

Confused as to why she'd need a torch, Joan squinted at him until she remembered. "Flashlight! Right! Yes, yes I do." She triumphantly produced the light from the side pocket of her small pack. "You?"

He produced his torch from the depth of his pant's side pocket and switched it on. "Let's go then. This way, Watson ..."

She followed him through the churchyard and over a stone fence towards the loch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surveillance work.

"Watson," Sherlock hissed into the night air. He should have never let her go off by herself. Not that he could have stopped her. In the three nights they'd spent out here, he learned that Joan Watson did as she pleased. Her intelligence and innate ability to observe and deduce were impressive as was her stamina ... still she was small and a girl and liable to get into trouble on her own.

The dried grass crunched under his feet and rustled around him. Pitch black as it was, he might just walk into her if not careful. He listened. Nothing. The cold air was beginning to infiltrate his layers. She was not nearly as well prepared. Damn the girl. She was costing him time.

The blink of light in the distance caught his attention. About 20 meters ahead, low to the ground, a small beam of red-filtered light flashed. And then again in short and longer intervals. Morse code. 

h e r e I a m h e r e 

Sherlock grinned into the darkness. Watson was full of surprises. He followed her light. 

Flat on her stomach, with elbows firmly in place on the ground to hold the binoculars steady, Joan acknowledged his arrival. "Took you long enough," she whispered and motioned for him to lay down next to her. 

He dropped down, stretched out beside her in the tall grasses and followed her line of sight. The outline of a boat could be picked out against the inky black of the water. Joan handed him the binoculars, "They've been loading boxes, not very many, but heavy it seems to me by the way they are being carried." He eagerly took the binoculars. She continued, "There's two of them. One looks thinner, smaller, could be a kid ..."

Sherlock raised the binoculars to his eyes without a word. Joan took the opportunity to flex her fingers and try to restore feeling to her cold-numbed hands. 

A satisfied hum signaled his appreciation of her work. He scoured the scene below, taking in as much detail as the low light permitted. "I believe that is Angus. You met him some three nights back." 

Joan took the binoculars back from him and studied the movements of the thinner of the two dark figures. "I think you're right."

"Of course I'm right." 

Joan rolled her eyes in the darkness. She had gotten to know her new friend in the past three nights of surveillance. Sherlock was extremely intelligent, shared his knowledge enthusiastically but his manner at times veered toward the brusque, direct with no social varnish. Yet he had an open, accepting quality that she'd not come across in other boys her age. He treated her like a friend rather than prey for conquest. 

"How is it you know Morse code?" He asked as he once more took back the binoculars. 

"Sixth grade report on Samuel Morse. I was curious, learned it, taught it to my brother. We still use it on occasion to get round our parents.... look! The boat's heading off." The faint sound of a motor travelled up to them on the night air. "It doesn't look like they left anyone or thing behind ..."

"I think they might be headed to Fraoch Eileen. There is an old graveyard and castle ruins on the island." They watched until the darkness swallowed the faint outline of the boat and then sat up. Sherlock rummaged in his pack and pulled out his well-used map of the loch and its environs. He unfolded and smoothed it out while Joan aimed her red-tinted light across the paper. Cross-legged, they hunched over it searching for the castle and the island. "There!" Sherlock tapped the spot. "There's Fraoch Eilean. Not far at all and a splendid place to hide whatever it is they loaded on board tonight."

The wind picked up and an involuntary shiver ran through her. He noted it but was unsure whether to offer her his own jacket. She might take offense. He learned a thing or two from that whole 'weak 'cause you're a girl' argument they had last night. 

"Come on," Sherlock refolded his map. "It's getting close to three. I'll walk with you back home."

The light beams from their respective flashlights jostled and crisscrossed in front of them as they picked their way back towards the town. "What are we going to do?" Joan whispered even though there was no need. 

"My aunt has a small boat. We can take it out to the island tomorrow and investigate. Do you think you can meet me at the pier by noon?"

"Yes.... I think so." Her light caught a movement in the underbrush. Sherlock and Joan froze then took a small step back and nearer to each other. Whatever it was crunched and rustled in the dry vegetation and quickly scuttled away, obviously more scared than they were by the encounter. Held breaths were expelled with relief. His hand that had instinctively gone to her shoulder and hers that had grabbed at his jacket were moved without a word. The walk back continued. 

Joan broke the awkward silence with a whisper, "How is it you know Angus? The other night you said you two had an agreement?"

"Angus, though he has some strong leadership qualities, is not the brightest of lads. He failed miserably in his coursework last semester and is currently taking summer classes ..."

"So you tutor him?" 

"No. I do his homework so he won't beat me senseless."

"Sherlock that's horrible. Why don't you ..."

"It's alright, Watson. It's a better arrangement than others I've had . Plus, his elementary level of study and the low expectations he engenders in his teachers means anything I produce for him is acceptable and the work is done in no time at all."

Her laugh caught him off guard and made him smile in return. 

Conversation stopped as the grass gave way to gravel and then to cobblestones. He watched as she climbed back in her bedroom window and waved goodnight. 

From her window, Joan watched him walk away, head bent down and his pace brisk, until he disappeared into the deep shadows of the empty lane.


End file.
